


Waiting For The Dead

by Iavalir



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-09
Updated: 2012-08-09
Packaged: 2017-11-11 18:58:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iavalir/pseuds/Iavalir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years later, Dís still sets the table for her sons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting For The Dead

**Author's Note:**

> Challenge for lotr_community (October 2011) was to write a story involving elements we haven’t written before, such as characters or genre. Since I seldom write about dwarves, especially Hobbit fanfiction, and especially female dwarves, I thought this would be the perfect chance to explore them.

Ten years later, Dís still sets the table for her sons. The thick aroma of ham and potatoes do not penetrate the walls of the mountains, but she knows the scent is exactly that which her sons loved best - and Thorin her brother as well, who often visited just for her cooking. And it was these men that she now awaited as she stood atop a precipice which led to an entrance of the Blue Mountain where she still lived, as she had done on this day for the past ten years. Her family was among the last to remain here when many others had left for the Lonely Mountain, where Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli were said to be buried. It was in the light hope that she did this, remaining here; her strong heart prayed the news of their deaths were but a mistake, and she soon would see them marching over the horizon, merry songs about their lips. 

Even her own stubborn self could not fully deny their deaths. It was part of their history now, and she was to become a well known name among the secretive dwarves, as . But there was always hope, that perhaps she had misheard the news, or the identity of the dwarves were someone else’s sons and brother. She had not seen their bodies and had not been there for their burial, and so her heart refused to believe all who told her that her brother and children were dead. 

Kíli’s favorite dish, honeyed ham and pickled beets, were set about the large dining table, ready for him. And along with that were the lightly sweetened pies which Fíli always devoured. This she always prepared on this day when they would return. But each time it was eaten by herself and her daughter Míli. Míli, who grew up with the tale of her great uncle Thorin and who had vowed to become great like him one day; and who grown out and braided her beard to match the style of her brother Fíli. She would be sitting at the table again, most likely, waiting for her family to return. But Míli, unlike her mother, knew that her brothers and her uncle were long gone, and it was with forlorn, and her stomach growling, that she sat in the dim hall waiting for the dinner chime. 

And Dís knew her daughter was growing hungry, sitting alone with the delicious aroma to torment her until her mother returned. And though that was how it has been for the ten years, never had Dís truly thought what went on in her daughter’s heart, for Míli seldom spoke of her discontent for her mother’s sake. The thought broke Dís’s heart, and the realization of her actions finally begun to sink in. 

“It does not do to be out here waiting for the dead to return,” she said, “when I have long neglected the living who still need my care. Rest in peace, my brother and sons! Now you reside in the halls of my fathers, and that place is far from my home.” So with a sigh, she turned her back to the empty road and went inside to tend to what remained of her family.


End file.
